


A Matter of Taste

by Mr_Customs_Man



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Bad Taste, Good Omens Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 14:55:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21120629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mr_Customs_Man/pseuds/Mr_Customs_Man
Summary: Aziraphale despairs of Crowley's bad taste. Written for the Good Omens Kink Meme.





	A Matter of Taste

Aziraphale first began to suspect in 458 BC during the festival of Dionysus. The second play of Aeschylus’s _Oresteia_ trilogy -- _The Libation Bearers_ \-- had just concluded and Aziraphale was on the edge of his seat waiting for the next one to start. He couldn’t wait to find out what happened to Orestes.  
  
He felt more than saw someone slide into the seat next to him, a flutter of black fabric creeping at the corner of his eye. He turned to look, and yes, there was Crawly, hair cut much shorter than the last time he saw him. The demon shielded his eyes from the sun and peered down at the stage. “Has it started?” He asked.  
  
“I’m afraid you’re very late. The first two plays have already been performed, there’s just the ending left.”  
  
Crawly made a face. “Oh, no, I never watch the tragedies. I’m just here for the satyr play.”  
  
Aziraphale stared at him as his brain tried to comprehend what Crawly had just said. _He only watches the satyr plays?_ That short piece of drivel the actors put on right before the last tragedy? Surely, he couldn’t be serious. Yes, that was it, Crawly was just trying to rile him up. It’s what demons do. But then, as Helen of Troy kept trying to sneak off with one of the satyrs while her husband Menelaus chased them around the stage, he turned to look at Crawly and saw him with his head thrown back, laughing. He was... actually enjoying this.  
  
Oh no.  
  


* * *

  
  
“This is dumb,” Crowley said.  
  
“You’re the one who made it popular, dear boy,” Aziraphale pointed out.  
  
“Because you asked!”  
  
Hamlet strutted across the stage and the audience was hanging on to every word of his soliloquy. William Shakespeare was a genius and it was high time he became known for more than just his bawdy comedies. The turn out was magnificent, a full house every night. He had a feeling that Hamlet would last through the ages. Maybe they would even teach it schools!  
  
“This is so boring!” Crowley sighed dramatically.  
  
“Shh!”  
  
“Well, it is!” He insisted. “Why couldn’t we have gone to see _Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay_? They’ve got a talking, decapitated head in that one.”  
  
Oh no.  
  


* * *

  
  
Aziraphale was pleasantly delighted when, on a walk in 1820, he spotted Crowley on a park bench with his nose in a book. What was he reading? _Ivanhoe_ by Sir Walter Scott? Or perhaps one of Miss Austen’s novels? Surely nothing by Dr. Johnson, no matter how good a writer Aziraphale couldn’t see Crowley opening on of his books willingly. But then, if Crowley’s finally taken to reading perhaps Aziraphale could help him work his way up to Dr. Johnson. Oh, how exciting! There were so many books he wanted him to try!  
  
He sat down next to Crowley and asked, his voice near bursting with excitement, “What are you reading?”  
  
And then he showed him the cover. Oh, no, not one of those horrid gothic romances! “_The Mysteries of Udolpho,_” Crowley said. His eyes were still on his book and so he missed the way Aziraphale’s face fell. “Have you read it? What am I saying, of course you have. You probably have twelve copies of it, all mint condition (Aziraphale didn’t, because he would never sully his bookshop with such filth). Isn’t it great? I had no idea books could be this exciting! I can’t wait to find out what’s behind the curtain. I bet it’s a skeleton.”  
  
Oh no. He was right. The demon had spectacularly bad taste.  
  


* * *

  
  
Aziraphale had to stop himself from rolling his eyes when he saw Crowley sprawled on his couch, his eyes glued to his phone. There was a small smile on his face that was slowly growing bigger. “Let me guess,” Aziraphale said. “Chidi has just admitted that he loves Eleanor.”  
  
“Finally! I’ve really got to stop picking fics that are tagged ‘slow burn’ and ‘100k.’”  
  
“My dear, have you ever thought of branching out? Reading something outside your comfort zone?”  
  
Crowley shot him a puzzled look. “What do you mean? I just read a Janet/Tahani fanfic the other day. It was surprisingly good.”  
  
Aziraphale took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. “I meant reading something more... substantial! Not, not that nonsense you find online.”  
  
Crowley sat there stunned, but only for a moment because then he was on his feet. “It’s not nonsense! It’s really good! You’d know that if you weren’t such a snob!”  
  
“I am not a snob!”  
  
“You are though, a snob and a bit of a bastard,” he insisted. “You think I didn’t notice all those centuries, every time I brought up a play or a movie I’d recently seen and you’d roll your eyes and and change the subject?”  
  
“It’s called having standards! And you! You were always sighing or whining about how boring I was being every time I tried to talk to you about my latest book!”  
  
Crowley threw up his hands. “Well, then we’re both snobby bastards!”  
  
“Yes! We are! So what are we going to do about it?!” Aziraphale demanded.  
  
Crowley thought about it. “I’ll read one Samuel Johnson book if you read this Drarry fanfic I’ve got bookmarked.”  
  
“Deal.”


End file.
